


with you, i feel again

by andydwyer



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band), X Factor (US) RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andydwyer/pseuds/andydwyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-year-old Lauren Jauregui is solid in her job as a full time lifeguard at the Hernandez family's Golden Valley Ranch resort in Austin, Texas. With a beautiful girlfriend, solid money flow, a family of fellow employees, and practically free housing, Lauren should be living on top of the world. But with the return of Camila Cabello into Lauren's life, all she has left is a pocket full of guilt and a heavy heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mission (totally effing) impossible

**Author's Note:**

> I already have quite a bit of this written (and I'm also posting it on wattpad) and I plan to post a chapter each time I finish a new one. For example as soon as I finish writing chapter six, I'll post chapter two! Anyway, let me know what you think of the plot and such!

Let me tell you, sometimes the littlest, most apparently un-phenomenal things in life round out to be the biggest game changers out there. Like the first time I heard that one special song on the radio while I drove home from the date that was the inevitable end to my laughable relationship with Luis. Or that day Alexa and I let that nice looking college boy tattoo little matching hearts behind our left ears (that one wasn’t out of the blue, it was in context; a story for another time). Or what about that dinner during junior year when Alexa and I ultimately (and somewhat accidentally) fell in love? Or the time that one special song came on the radio while Alexa guided her car through the empty streets with me in the passenger seat and I realized that it could easily be our song and that the lyrics linked our dumb little inked hearts together in about a million and one ways and maybe it wasn’t an accident that we loved each other.

Or how about the first summer I actually found myself employed? By Allyson Brooke “Golden Girl” Hernandez and her lovely parents, no less. Going into the job, if you went back and asked freshly-eighteen-year-old me what my employment at the Golden Valley Ranch Resort would bring, I’d have said money. Essentially it was a free flight to Austin, Texas, and crap loads of money directly deposited into my bank account just to sit around all summer and make sure no one died in the pool on my watch. Somehow (natural charm, I’m sure) I convinced Ally to hire Alexa as well with promises that yes, work would actually get done and no, we would not spend the entire summer slacking.

No one died on my watch at the Valley that first summer, nor did Alexa and I waste all of our time slacking off. As summer number one drew to a close I weaseled my way into Ally’s head and convinced her (again, with natural charm) to keep me employed throughout the year. The Valley wasn’t only a summer resort after all, and in the scorching outskirts of the Lone Star State capital, there remained a constant flow of resort-goers.

While I worked, Alexa jetted off to UCLA with a promise to return as soon as summer commenced once more. It was a promise well kept and one summer at the resort quickly turned into two, and when that one was over it was back to UCLA for Alexa and more work for me.

By then any recollection of my promise to my father that I was taking only a single year off before college was thrown out the window as new additions to the Golden Valley family stepped forth and I became more invested in lifeguarding than I ever thought possible. Plus the company wasn’t terrible. There was Styles, a boyish young man of twenty-one who arrived soon after the first time Alexa left and took his college level courses online and adopted the same year-round schedule as I. Among the first full batch of new additions was Dinah Jane, a rowdy food-loving waitress, Louis, a goofy kindhearted kitchen hand, Normani, a Beyoncé worshiping lifeguard who immediately formed a strong bond with Dinah, and Celine, a waitress with a shy smile and kind eyes. Last to arrive was a bulky lifeguard named Siope, who by chance fell in love with our very own Dinah Jane.

Styles and Dinah were my only fellow young employees at the Valley during the months not included in summer, and they were some of the best company I ever encountered. Their constant banter was a welcome distraction from however many miles it was between Austin and UCLA, and by the time Alexa and the rest of the gang returned for summer number two, I was barely conscious of how quickly time had passed.

And now as freshly-twenty-year-old me longingly awaited summer number three and Alexa’s homecoming, I found myself tacking my dawning reunion with Normani, Siope, Celine, and Louis just as high as the reunion with my girlfriend.

But first, before any of that, Styles and I had places to be.

“What are we doing today, kids?” The voice (a gravelly mess of grunts and low notes) belonged to Ross, a brick wall of a man with close-cropped black hair and muddy brown eyes. Colorful ink littered his muscular forearms and my curious eyes immediately picked out the little cartoon-style slice of pizza near his inner elbow--my favorite tattoo of his, however dorky it may look in contrast with the many darker pieces.

“You’re finishing my anchor today,” Styles announced proudly. The unfinished pieced looked delicate thus far, complete with unimaginably thin lines, strong curves, and impeccable shading. If I ever found myself desiring a permanent anchor etched in my skin I would request to steal this one.

“Oh yeah. Yeah. I am. Let’s go on back.” Ross would have known if I were on the schedule for a piece--I wasn’t--so he assumed I was merely there to observe, which I was.

We trailed back through the shop, passing a couple of open-walled rooms tucked to either side of the place, each fit with a padded table, an artist’s stool, and shelves stocked full with inks in every color imaginable. We had to duck to clear underneath the extra low doorframe to Ross’s office. Styles had taken to calling it the entrance to the Hobbit Hole. I never did ask why Ross kept a door he had to duck so dramatically to enter.

“How them lyrics looking? Healin’ okay? Can I take a look?” Ross turned to address me as soon as the three of us stood in his office; he lifted his monstrously large right hand and gestured with his index finger to the neckline of my shirt.

I brought my own hand up and tugged the neckline down to reveal the semi-fresh text piece on my left collarbones. “Still a tiny bit sore,” I admitted, flinching only a little bit noticeably when Ross gently pressed the tip of his finger along the lines.

“Good. Good. S’posed to be,” he grunted with a solid nod and retracted his hand. “Your girl seen it yet?”

“I’m going to show it to her as soon as she gets in on Sunday. It’s a bit of a surprise, actually,” I informed the muscular man as he went to work setting up the gun and the ink he would use to put the finishing touches on Styles’s anchor.

“Ah. Those lines...what’re they from again?” he asked with genuine interest. I had a feeling Ross hadn’t actually forgotten the answer to his question, but I knew he liked to hear about Alexa and I, so I pretended this was the first time I was telling him the story. I recounted the whole deal about hearing the song on the radio after Luis and I called it quits, and about how the matching hearts behind our ears came to be, and how we didn’t mean to fall in love as we had, and how I heard the song again in the car with Alexa and it became our song and so on and so forth.

By the time I came tumbling out of my reminiscent trance Ross had already set off on the anchor, nodding along with the sound of my voice. “That’s good. That’s good,” he grumbled. “Always gon’ be rootin’ for y’all two, you can count on that. Bring her in sometime next week. I’d like to say hi.”

“You got anything booked for Tuesday? I could--”

My sentence was cut short by the shrill ring of my cell phone, which I fished from my pocket after mumbling my apologies. I went to decline the call and then I noticed the identity of the caller flashing across the smooth screen. Ally Hernandez. With the realization that I should probably answer because I was probably needed (she only ever called on my days off if she was in desperate need of an extra pair of hands), I quietly excused myself from Ross’s office to stand in the eerily silent hallway.

“Hello?” I said upon accepting the call.

“Lauren? Oh thank God,” Ally rushed her words out urgently. “I’m so sorry to bug you--I know this is your day off--but I need a hero and Harry’s on the table...”

I peered through the entrance to the Hobbit Hole and was met with the peaceful sight of Styles with his lids shut, shoulders relaxed, as Ross penned the details of the anchor with his whirring gun. “I’m with him right now actually,” I told her, nibbling on my lower lip as I mentally scanned my schedule for the rest of the day. It was empty. “How soon would you need me?”

“Would you hate me if I said right away?”

I heaved a sigh, one that rippled through my entire body and disappeared somewhere near my toes. “No,” I said reluctantly. “As much as I hate you, I could never hate you. I’ll be there in ten.”

“My knight in shining armor. You’re a lifesaver, Lauren.” With that, the line clicked out and left me in silence.

I ducked my head underneath the frame of the entrance to Ross’s office. “Boys?” Two heads turned my way and I stuck my tongue out at Styles, who was nibbling on his lower lip to keep himself from complaining about the constant buzz of the needle on his skin. “I’m afraid my day off has been cut short,” I informed them with an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you up at camp later, Styles?”

He hummed a yes.

“And I’ll bring Alexa by sometime next week,” I told Ross, who grunted without looking up from his piece.

Seven and a half minutes later I tore through the back entrance to the employee lot at the Valley and gave myself a pat on the back for a new personal best from Ross’s shop. I grabbed my keys and my cell and ditched the Audi A5 that was technically Alexa’s, but mine while she was away at school.

Jogging in through the back door to the industrial kitchen, I swiped a still warm chocolate chip cookie from a silver tray before Louis could even open his mouth to protest. He was the first of the summer gang to arrive and to say I missed his skills in the kitchen would be a tremendous understatement.

“I’m here,” I announced with a huff and a mouthful of cookie as I charged through the open door to Ally’s office.

The young Miss Hernandez sat comfortably perched on the edge of her brown leather office chair with a phone pressed to her ear; with the hand not in use she raised her index finger to signal that she would only be a second. I waited patiently for approximately eleven seconds as Ally said a couple goodbyes and ended the call.

“Lauren, hi!” She finally addressed me with a smile, gesturing for me to take the seat in front of her glossy wooden desk. “I’m sorry to yank you out of your own personal time. I know you wanted to stay with Harry while he’s on the table, but I have an assignment that needs special care and you were my obvious first choice.”

“You’re putting me on a special assignment?” I asked in disbelief, pushing aside as much of my sarcasm around the words ‘special assignment’ as I could. It wasn’t too effective. “Why me? Why not Celine or Normani or, hell, even Styles?”

“Despite what you may believe about your dedication and work ethic, you do happen to be one of our most productive employees. You’ve been working here for nearly two years solid.” Ally yanked open a drawer on her desk and withdrew a thin manila folder. “I’ll need you to look this over and memorize as much of it as you can by tomorrow,” she finished while sliding the folder across her desk and gesturing for me to take it.

There was, let’s see...about zero guesses in my head as to what I would find when I opened the folder I now held in my hands. “So what’s this special assignment you’re putting me on, AllyCat?” I tucked the folder underneath my arm and leaned back comfortably in my chair while lightly scuffing my boot in a heel-toe sequence against the floor of Ally’s office.

“Are you familiar with the television series ‘The X Factor?’”

“Uh. I guess you could say I’m familiar with it, sure.” I shrugged dismissively, unsure of the nature of her question. “I watched the first two seasons. Why?”

“And are you familiar with the winner of the second season, Camila Cabello?”

Oh. Well. My eyebrows rose in question as recognition washed through me. What kind of question was that? Better yet, who currently living in the continental United States of America wasn’t familiar with that name? You’d have to live in fucking asscrack Alabama not to know who Camila Cabello is. But where most people know her as the nineteen-year-old superstar currently topping the charts and breaking hearts (without even trying, or knowing, might I add), the name struck a nerve in me, and not necessarily a good one.

“Oh. I mean, yeah. I guess so.” I shrugged off the memories of sophomore and junior year that came rushing in from all angles like a herd of relentless attack dogs. “We went to the same high school for, like, a year and a half. Can’t say we were friends in any way at all, but that happened.”

As if it weren’t enough that I attended McCoy, the reject hut, for high school, Camila did too. For a little over one glorious year I watched silently from Alexa’s side as the horrors of middle school trailed heedlessly behind Camila Cabello, following her to every last nook and corner of McCoy. Wherever she hid, they found her and made sure it was clear in her head that they would _always_ find her and _nothing_ could be done about it. McCoy, being the shit house it was, seemed only to have employed staff who didn’t appear to care whether or not kids were being teased to the point where they literally ate lunch in a bathroom stall to escape the hell hole that was the cafeteria.

If Camila thought middle school was bad, the short time she spent in public high school must have completely wrecked her.

Although I can proudly say I had nothing to do with the torment Camila Cabello underwent during the fifth through eighth grades, the same doesn’t apply to her freshman and sophomore years. Alexa and I were a year ahead of Camila, and the night before my own freshman year I made a silent promise that I would never let myself become one of _those_ girls. You know the ones. The mean girls. I still couldn’t tell you whether or not I kept that promise. I could tell you that I kept my mouth shut while Camila was teased and pushed around to the point of tears. I could tell you I did nothing to stop it, or that on occasion I found myself laughing along with Alexa and the others as we sent Camila scurrying away with red eyes and her head hung low. I could tell you that as soon as she skyrocketed to the top of the Billboard charts I allowed my haunting guilt to crush any last hopes I had of doing what she’d done: follow her dreams.

After watching Camila Cabello come out of The X Factor victorious, making it big was no longer my dream. If I ever went after the spotlight I would only be eaten away by the guilt and regret that remained from those dumb high school days. From what I could tell from the media, Camila was happy now. It wouldn’t be fair if I went for the same dream, not the way I saw it. I couldn’t take that from her, not after everything I let her go through.

“Lauren, are you listening to me?” Ally’s voice thrust a wedge into my thoughts and I quickly shook it all off, raising my eyebrows and humming quietly to show that I was indeed listening now. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Hm?” My head lolled to the side as I peered across the desk. Allyson Brooke Hernandez was the picture of a perfect daughter; beautiful, successful, kindhearted, yadda yadda yadda. I was almost jealous.

Ally sighed and shook her head, turning to quickly glance at something that popped up on her computer screen before addressing me once more. “Your assignment is simple, all right? All you need to do is keep Camila happy while she’s here. Keep people out of her space, make sure she has everything she needs, and _don’t,_ under any circumstances, ask for her autograph.” Ally was smiling then, a clear sign that she failed to see the distress in my eyes. “Think you can do that?”

“Ah...”

I could tell Ally the truth, let her in on my _lovely_ past, and have to deal with her disappointment and whatever. The only other option left me in a pool of my own guilt that would surely swallow me whole the first chance it got. For the first time in two years I could safely say my job was shit. And this? What the hell was this?

“She arrives tomorrow. I need an answer, Lauren.”

“Fuckin’ Mario Lopez over here,” I muttered angrily under my breath. “Cabello’s gonna fit _riiight_ in if you keep that shit up. Whatever. I’ll do it. Am I getting a bonus for this, or anything? If you’re going to make me be a fucking bodyguard-slash-babysitter I sure as fuck better be getting paid extra.”

“This isn’t a babysitting job, Lauren,” Ally sighed. “And watch your language, I can still fire you. I trust you’ll do a good job with this assignment and I expect nothing less than words of praise from Miss Cabello regarding your responsibilities.”

Right then and there I had half a mind to egg Ally on--she wouldn’t dare fire me, not without crumbling underneath the wrath of her parents who undoubtedly loved me like I was their own. As I opened my mouth to protest I found myself soaring through what must have been an emotional epiphany. Choosing my words carefully, I finally spoke. “Why are you putting me on this, Al? Don’t you think America’s sweetheart deserves something substantially better than a twenty-year-old lesbian douche-bag lifeguard?” So much for word choice, I scolded myself but soon forgot about it. Sighing audibly I brought my hands up to rub harshly at my temples with the tips of my fingers. Retracting my hands I finally took into account the palette of colors etched in my skin, otherwise known as what should have been another dead giveaway that I was not the one for this job.

“Lauren.” Another sigh. “I firmly believe that you are capable of taking this assignment seriously. I wouldn’t have chose you if I didn’t think you would do a good job,” Ally assured me in earnest.

“You never answered my question,” I countered.

“You will be paid extra, yes, but on the grounds that you see to Miss Cabello’s every need and act appropriately.”

For a moment I contemplated the pros and cons of being Camila Cabello’s little bitch, even with a bonus. I became distracted somewhere between realizing she may not even remember me and realizing _that_ was complete bullshit, and gave up. “What about my tattoos?” I asked with a heavy breath that no doubt displayed my defeat. “Do I have to cover my sleeves? ‘Cause I’m really not up for wearing hoodies in this weather, so that’s not happening.”

Ally’s eyes raked over my exposed arms and the ink that came long with them, surely wishing there were some way she could convince me to cover them. Shifting my gaze down, I inspected my arms along with Ally’s wandering eyes. It had been too long since my last real look at the pieces I housed on the smooth skin of my arms.

My left arm possessed a gentle purple backdrop that darkened a half shade or two with the contours of my bicep and rounded off with slight, airy twists and curves before cutting off in lovely contrast with the now tan skin of my shoulder. Among the purple tint little bits and pieces of the essence of _me_ were strewn about in no particular organization; a gold plated black-and-white lock sans key near my wrist, a baby blue and gold hourglass complete with soft pink wings protruding from the sides all outlined in black near my outer elbow, two small outlines of linked hearts on the inside of my wrist, a golden scroll etched in gentle colors on the inside of my forearm that housed a declaration of love and family and life. The center of the sleeve, a striking woman of the ocean--a mermaid, if you will--with a tail of emerald scales and hair of gold, swam with white wings sprouting from her shoulder blades and a shimmering halo encircling her skull. Her two hands she held poised in front of her chest, palm to palm, dark eyes turned downward in silent prayer. Surrounding her on both sides were sets of rippling purple waves with curly whitecaps that rolled easily away from her aura. She lived peacefully on the outside of my bicep as constant protection from all things wicked.

If I opened my left arm to reveal the inner elbow you would see the one tattoo Ross ever hesitated to give me: a little slice of cartoon pizza nearly identical to his own. The reds and oranges and yellows and gentle browns didn’t look right with the purple background, but that was all right. It wasn’t supposed to fit in the with the sleeve, just like I was never meant to stay in Austin for as long as I had. It was my ode to Ross as the first fatherly figure I adopted upon my relocation and not nearly as pointless as outside eyes would believe.

Before I had the chance to fully assess the darker hues contained on my right arm, Ally cleared her throat, interrupting my train of thought and bringing it to a quick stop.

“I’m only going to ask that you conceal the tattoos on your face and neck as I believe that is a perfectly reasonable request.”

My fingertips immediately flew to the ink hidden behind my left ear before I realized the little heart wasn’t the only Alexa tattoo I wore. Ally’s eyes followed the path my fingertips took to the hairline on the lower right side of my face directly preceding my ear. Although I couldn’t at all see the tattoo I silently traced the familiar path of the small black Roman numerals with the pad of my thumb before dropping my hand.

Considering the four black birds soaring around the right side of my neck were typically covered by my hair--when I wore it down--I nodded my reluctant consent. “All right.”

“I still don’t see the appeal of tattoos on that beautiful face of yours, Lauren...” Ally trailed off on the second syllable of my name upon realizing her words would likely strike a flame in me--she of all people knew better than most I didn’t take the disregard of my body art lightly.

“Right. Alexa may want to have words with you when she shows up and her tattoos have miraculously disappeared from this beautiful face of mine.” I flashed the woman across from me the least genuine smile I could manage without full on baring my teeth and growling like an animal.

“Just be here tomorrow by five,” Ally requested with a dismissive sigh. “Miss Cabello shall be making an early arrival shortly after a quarter past.”

In the few seconds it took to rise from my seat and dull the kindling flame encased in my chest, I composed myself entirely to wash away any lingering agitation I held over the situation. “Anything for the queen,” I muttered with a tip of my imaginary hat.

It still hadn’t occurred to me as I strode over-confidently out of Ally’s office that maybe Camila Cabello wasn’t only being thrown into my life by chance, or to punish me for stupid high school bullshit that was eons old, but that maybe there were reasons tucked expertly away in there that I couldn’t yet begin to understand even if I tried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-year-old Lauren Jauregui is solid in her job as a full time lifeguard at the Hernandez family's Golden Valley Ranch resort in Austin, Texas. With a beautiful girlfriend, solid money flow, a family of fellow employees, and practically free housing, Lauren should be living on top of the world. But with the return of Camila Cabello into Lauren's life, all she has left is a pocket full of guilt and a heavy heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Here's the second chapter. Not too sure how well I edited this, so my apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes or typos.

I awoke at the asscrack of dawn the next morning as per Ally’s instructions and found myself running animatronic-like through my morning routine of showering, blow-drying my typically unruly hair, and fixing myself a surely insufficient breakfast of black coffee and black coffee alone. 

A sigh rolled wavelike through my chest as I realized there were additions to be made. I retreated back to the restroom adjacent to my bedroom and spent a solid one hundred and twenty seconds gazing at my reflection in the shiny mirror tacked to the wall above the porcelain sink. 

To my own trying eyes there were only faint remnants of the girl I was in high school lingering behind in my now sharper features. My jaw had since squared out and its angularity left me “looking like an angry little fucker all the time,” as Alexa so graciously put it. Whereas in high school I left my eyebrows the slightest bit out of hand, they were now groomed to perfection with tiny downward kinks towards the ends. My eyes that morphed apparent color with my surroundings, full pink lips, and normal looking nose were the same as they had always been; no change there. 

I’d since abandoned my excessive use of useless makeup in favor of swingin’ it au naturale once I stopped giving a shit what the outside eyes thought of me, especially since those I happen to care about reckon I look just fine without it. The three visible pieces on the tan skin of my face and neck soon disappeared beneath expertly applied concealer I found in the bathroom cabinet. I would declare it a miracle if the skin-colored cover up didn’t melt off with sweat under the dawning heat of summer. 

Once through I combed my hair back with my fingers and tied it in a loose ponytail that hung slightly to the left, leaving the curls at the ends of the silky natural waves to lightly tickle in-between my shoulder blades through the thin fabric of my white Golden Valley lifeguard tank top underneath which I wore a simple solid black bikini top. The soft material of the shirt hung comfortably loose around my shoulders, baring to the world my sleeved arms and the ink that littered select spots on my collarbones, including the latest lyrics for Alexa. The center of the top boasted a large red safety cross with the word ‘lifeguard’ beneath it in all red capitals. 

With the shirt I matched a pair of little red board shorts with white trim and a white shoelace tie through the elastic band of the waist. With a large majority of my legs on display you could see the twinkling gold star outlined in solid black placed decidedly near the middle of my left thigh, beneath three lines of text, all centered and inked in prominent capital letters, though only the star and second and third lines were accessible to the eyes with the board shorts on. 

_AN AWFULLY_

_BIG ADVENTURE_

In its entirety: 

_TO DIE WILL BE_

_AN AWFULLY_

_BIG ADVENTURE_

And so it will be.

I tossed on a pair of flip flops and jogged leisurely over the unbelievably green hill, blades of grass tickling my feet with morning dew as I went. High in the sky the yellow sun hung with mellow authority over Austin whereas it remained hidden still to America’s West Coast. All around me lukewarm air whipped around my face in a most gentle manner as I spun a slow turn to cast my eyes upon what us year round employees call camp. 

The clustered mess off modern apartments hidden away in the nearby hills were a three minute jog either way to or from the Valley and if you didn’t know what you were searching for, they would surely be overlooked in their neutrality. Such was the intention. 

The large door to the employee locker room clicked mechanically shut behind me as I strode through the rows of lockers fashioned from what I’m sure was shit-expensive wood glossed in finish. At the end of the second row near the far left wall was positioned locker number 19. The small combination lock fell open in my palm as soon as I was through entering the four-digit code and I quickly ditched my cheap flip flops for a pristinely kept pair of white Sperry’s that took a crap load of time last summer to break in, not leaving me without blisters to prove it. 

I fished my cell from the pocket of my shorts and took a quick glance at the time; I was allotted nearly six and half more minutes of freedom until Lauren the Little Bitch came into play and I fully intended to use those three hundred and ninety seconds to my full advantage. 

I found Dinah out front slouched over the valet podium, exhaust-ridden eyes on the verge of falling shut as I approached with a teasing grin clinging on to my lips. “Mornin’, Dinah Jane,” I greeted the younger (but aggravatingly taller) girl with a light squeeze of her shoulder before allowing my hand to wander, my fingertips playfully tugging at the lobe of her left ear. “What’re you doing out here? I thought Louis and the boys in the kitchen needed all hands on deck for that U.T. reunion brunch today.” 

“Screwthe University of Texas and their dumb as hell brunch,” she grumbled while smacking my hand away. 

“Let me guess,” I began as I dropped down onto the top stone step leading down to the roundabout driveway preceding the Valley’s castle of a clubhouse. My shoulder blades felt the dull scrape of the stone pillar I reclined against and I allowed a muffled yawn to slip past my lips and the hand that I raised to cover my mouth before finishing my thought, “Tomlinson kicked you out?” 

Dinah picked her head up from the podium just long enough to fling a round of harmless eye daggers my way. “He did _not_ kick me out,” she protested against her forearm, then mumbled her finishing words at a volume I nearly had to lean forward to catch. “He _escorted_ me out after I took a bite out of one of his stupid scones. I didn’t even get to finish the freaking thing.”

“Ah...” I nodded in faux understanding while I restrained my amusement to simply a cheeky grin. 

“Hey, hold up. What are _you_ doing here so early?” 

“Now _that_ is a lovely question, my big friendly giant.” I couldn’t help it. The corners of my lips quirked up in a cheeky grin as Dinah stared me down to little avail, her dark eyes narrowing as I opened my mouth to speak again. “I’m here to play bitch-boy to Camila Cabello for fifty bucks a day – and that’s _on_ _top_ of what I already make – for the next seven weeks,” I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

For a moment or so she mulled over the idea in her head before decidedly deciding that it was complete crap and I was bullshitting her – which I wasn’t. “All right, loser,” Dinah finally muttered through a laugh that eventually turned into a yawn, and she dropped her forehead down against the flat surface of the podium once more. 

With a lingering smile still clinging to the corners of my lips I turned my head to gaze out at the luscious hills surrounding the Valley. Austin was a beautiful place this time of year even taking into account the skyrocketing temperatures that occasionally had me fighting completely real urges to burn everything to the ground and watch in crazed awe. 

“Give it a minute,” I added once I’d had enough of the dawning silence. 

It took four minutes and thirty-two seconds for a sleek black convertible to come rolling to a stylish stop in front of the stone steps where I sat and Dinah slouched, and four minutes and thirty- _eight_ seconds for Dinah to eat her heart out as she realized just who was behind the wheel of the purring black beauty. 

If I spoke with honesty to all ends of the earth I would find myself in obligation to tell you that I was far more impressed with the vehicle one Camila Cabello arrived in than the woman herself, though to her credit she had grown up substantially since I last saw her in person however many years ago it was. 

“I’m so sorry for showing up at such a crappy time. Mornings suck, don’t even get me started. It’s just my flight got in at four and Ally – I spoke to her on the phone – she said it was perfectly fine to show up whenever was convenient for me and – well, I – now I’m here. I’m sorry if you had to wake up early to be here.” 

It took longer than it should have for my slow as shit brain cells to register the sweet sound of Camila’s voice rambling on about mornings and arrivals and speaking to Ally and blah blah blah. For the first time in my twenty years on this planet I caught myself frozen in time, unsure of what move to make, if any at all. Somewhere inside my chest, bouncing around in my ribcage, drifted a ball of what must have been alarm in regards to the very real possibility that Camila would recognize me. 

I blinked. Her head tilted at an angle. My breath caught in my throat. And then, by God’s good graces, she smiled an endearing grin that reached her twinkling black-coffee-brown eyes that settled upon mine and showed no signs of recognition. 

“Don’t even worry about it,” I finally said with the realization that I was blowing this way out of proportion and that I could no doubt handle anything and everything this girl threw my way, even if that included acknowledgment and recognition of my role as bystander in the heart wrenching teen drama that was her brief time spent in public high school. “Can I, uh – can I help with your bags?” I gestured to the two duffels in the backseat of the convertible. 

I was an idiot for worrying, I must admit, because even as Camila’s God awfully captivating eyes assessed my inked skin on display with authentic curiosity, she exhibited no signs of disdain. “If you don’t mind,” she said shyly, eyes turned down, as if my offering to carry her bags were some chivalrous declaration of my desire to be wed first thing in the morning like Romeo and fucking Juliet. 

“Of course I don’t mind.” With a quick glance at the ring of keys clutched in her impeccably manicured hand, I offered my own. “And could I have your keys? Dinah’ll park your car ‘round back and I’ll show you to your suite.” 

Camila handed them over without reserve and I turned on my heel, the soles of my Sperry’s scuffing against the pavement as I swiveled around. 

“Hansen,” I barked, giving Dinah all of two seconds to snap to attention before I flung Camila’s car keys in a perfect arc toward her. “Keys,” I added purposely a little late. A chuckle tumbled lazily from my lips as the metal keyring looped through three or so keys collided with Dinah’s chest. To her credit she _did_ catch them, but only _after_ they bounced off of her generous chest. 

I leaned over to grasp the leather straps of the duffels and my board shorts must have ridden up to reveal the _TO DIE WILL BE_ part of my _TO DIE WILL BE AN AWFULLY BIG ADVENTURE_ piece because the next thing I knew, Camila’s burnt-umber eyes were boring relentlessly into my green ones and she was asking, “Peter Pan?” and I forgot that I was Lauren Jauregui, current bitch-boy slash former high school bully-enabler. 

“Yeah,” I ducked my head in a nod while my lips adopted a tenderly sincere smile. “The one and only. You ready?” 

No matter how many times I thought _don’t beat yourself up about it,_ I kept beating myself up about it. _It._ It it it. Stupid fucking it. Why did Camila Cabello have to hail from my homtown? Better yet, why did Camila Cabello have to be on the receiving end of enough shit to last a lifetime? Even better, why did my ‘friends’ have to stand on the supplying end? Or–wait for it–why did Camila Cabello have to choose the Golden Valley Ranch resort in Austin, Texas, of all places? 

“So, uh, I like your tattoos,” Camila told me shyly as I led her up the grand staircase on the left wall of the grand entryway in the Palace – the Valley’s own luxury housing unit. I was beginning to notice that everything out of her mouth that wasn’t some sort of apology was spoken gently, quietly, and with utmost care. 

I kept my gaze fixed on the toes of my white sailor’s shoes for the duration of our ascent up the disgustingly fancy staircase. “Yeah? You have any?” 

“I’m such a wimp when it comes to needles, I don’t think I could ever – hey, wait, is that a slice of pizza?” Camila asked in awe and not only could I hear the eagerness, excitement, intrigue, and fascination in her voice, I felt it; firm fingers wrapped around my left forearm and I stopped in my tracks as Camila Cabello slowed to a full halt in the middle of the haughtily carpeted hallway to examine my pizza tattoo, of all things. “That’s a slice of pizza,” she declared in wonder and finally tore her gaze away from the tattoo to focus in on my eyes. 

“That is indeed a slice of pizza,” I told her with an entertained half-grin, the product of my attempt not to let slip the laugh threatening to spill over. 

Camila was so gentle and invested in every little move she made, I wasn’t sure I could handle a day of this, let alone seven whole freaking weeks. I’d be dead by tomorrow if she kept this up. It was enough that my remaining guilt steadily ate away at my insides, but this? I did not sign up for _this._

“That’s so hot.” 

“Excuse me?” I asked in disbelief and this time the laugh that bubbled up escaped my lips before I even thought to try and stop it. “Are we still talking about my pizza tattoo here?” I voiced for clarification. 

A light pink flush spread across Camila’s cheeks as she admitted an embarrassed “ oh yes,” and a sudden desire to build a time machine appeared for the sole purpose of traveling back and slapping some fucking sense into fifteen-year-old Lauren. How could I ever let someone so sweet fall subject to the cruelty that was her past? Resuming our slow stroll to Camila’s suite, I couldn’t shake the agitation from my head. Here was this sweet, gentle girl who I didn’t think could ever hurt a fly, yet I’d seen her _be_ hurt so many times that right then and there I had to fight the urge to keel over and blow chunks on the stupid carpeted floor of the hallway. 

And to think there was even the slightest possibility that I could have done something about it.

When we reached the final door on the left hand of the hallway, I motioned for Camila to stand beside me as I punched in the four-digit code on the keypad that would grant access to only a single series of numbers. “Three, eight, two, five.” I cast a glance to the smaller woman lingering by my side and took her nibbling on her lower lip as understanding. “Spell’s fuck, so if you ever forget the numbers...there’s that,” I informed her with a dry laugh as the door clicked open and I stepped through the entryway. 

“You never told me your name,” Camila piped up a few paces behind me as I headed past the suite’s kitchen to the generously spacious sitting area. I dropped one of the duffels onto the cushions of the suede couch, and the other on the floor directly below. 

“You never told me yours,” I countered, and despite the disgustingly obvious fact that of course I already knew her name, it was true. Camila Cabello had never once informed me directly of her name. 

Camila had no trouble making herself at home in the little kitchen, I noticed, because by the time I relocated her with my wandering eyes she was halfway through setting up the coffee machine to brew a large mug. “You remind me of a girl I used to know,” she said over her shoulder. 

If you asked me later I would tell you there was a sixty-two percent chance that the beating of my very healthy heart came to a complete stop with the delivery of those words. If there was any time to grow a pair, it was then and there. “Oh yeah?” I asked curiously as I padded across the marble floor to lean casually against the edge of the counter, elbows and forearms resting lazily on the surface. 

“I didn’t really _know_ her, per se – I knew _of_ her, but everyone knew who she was. Even though she hung around with the kids who gave me hell, she was one of the few people who didn’t contribute to all the teasing thrown my way in high school.” With her thumb Camila pressed the little blue _start_ button on the coffee machine and waited until it whirred to life before her and she turned in place to face me. 

I kept my mouth shut, afraid that opening it would entail endless apologies that would only dig me deeper into my grave. 

With an airy sigh, she continued, “But her friends...they were relentless. They never let up.” Camila paused to shake her head whilst her brow furrowed in anguish. She wouldn’t look at me even as my dark eyes pierced into hers with budding confidence. Yet she spoke on, “And even when she laughed with them at the grief they gave me for the silliest things, it wasn’t real, I could tell. I like to think I’ve always been good at reading people. I liked that her heart wasn’t invested in tormenting me like the rest of them, it gave me hope, even if only a little bit. I never got the chance to talk to her but sometimes I’d like to think that if I did, we might have been friends. I don’t know if any of this means anything to you, but her name was –” 

“Lauren,” I cut in, finishing for her and surprising even myself with my newfound confidence. “Lauren Jauregui. My middle name’s Michelle, if it means anything.” 

“Lauren Michelle Jauregui...” Camila muttered, trying out my name in its entirety on her lips. I assumed she was satisfied with the way in which her voice sounded around the syllables because the next time I went to try and meet her gaze to search for any sort of discomfort, I found only the sweetest of smiles that extended easily from her lips to those beautiful brown eyes. “You look different,” she decided after a short minute spent assessing me. 

“Look,” I started hesitantly, unsure of the affect my proceeding words would have on the young woman separated from me by only a marble countertop. “If I could go back, if I could somehow stand up for you and put an end to all the shit they gave you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” 

“Why? Because I’m”– anyone could tell she hated the word –“famous?” Her eyes softened, eyelids drooping the tiniest bit with apparent ease, and her plump lips pressed into a sad smile as she exhaled a heavy sigh through her nostrils. 

My elbows pressed against the cool surface of the counter beneath my skin and with an exasperated breath I hung my head, my words leaving my lips with agitating difficulty. “No, I – I mean there’s that, but that’s not it. You’re so – you’re sweet. And gentle. And really fucking nice and now, standing here”–I picked up my head, the desolation in my darkening green eyes evident, weighted down additionally with the added exhaustion of the early hour–“I feel like... I don’t know. The way they treated you...and the way I just stood there and watched and let it happen, now I realize how much of an impact that can have on someone’s life. You didn’t deserve any of it. A-and if high school social standings and that bullshit are anything to go by, just look at us. I’m a fucking full time lifeguard.” 

If I didn’t shut my mouth soon there was no doubt in my mind that my honesty would only lead to a mess beyond repair. I straightened up, my eyes pleading with hers as I felt a chunk of the weight I carried on my shoulders disappear. “Please tell me there’s something – anything – I can do. Not even to make it up to you – there’s nothing I could do to make it up to you – just give me something, _anything._ ” 

If Camila were truly as skilled at reading people as she claimed to be, then I was in for a tedious seven weeks. Everything about me radiated guilt, regret, and the desire to be forgiven, and I wasn’t sure how well I could keep it all contained before something went wrong and I imploded. 

Camila sighed a gentle breath of air. The coffee machine beeped in two-beep succession to signal its finish but Camila didn’t pay it any attention just yet. “Take me to dinner,” she said simply, a genuine request. 

“It’s, like, six in the morning,” I stated dumbly. 

The corners of her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile before she was turning her back to take her mug of coffee from its little platform on the machine. “Come get me in twelve hours then. We can talk over food, if you’re interested...” 

What other choice did I have than to say yes? Saying no would henceforth set my douche-baggery in stone. I stared at her for a minute. I nodded slowly. “Twelve hours,” I said. 


End file.
